


there is no i in team

by vintagedean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Group Sex, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagedean/pseuds/vintagedean
Summary: He’s doing it again, he realizes. Thinking about John, and not the girl in front of him. Chelsea, he thinks her name is. Cindy, maybe. Whatever she’s called, she’s slinking a hand into his jacket, petting over the fabric of his shirt at his waist.“You want to get out of here?” he asks against her ear. He needs to get the show on the road.“God, yes,” she says. “I came with my roommate, though. Let me check in with her.”She goes to do just that, but ends up not even taking a step, her eyes caught by something over Dean’s shoulder.“Looks like she bagged her entertainment for the evening, too.”Dean twists his neck to see what Chelsea--he’s pretty sure it’s Chelsea--is looking at, and feels his stomach drop. Chelsea appears to be looking at a pretty freckled girl with dirty blonde hair who’s flirting with Dean’s father only a couple yards or so away.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), John Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	there is no i in team

**Author's Note:**

> fill for a tumblr prompt for john and dean both taking girls back to the motel to fuck at the same time. 
> 
> i hope i did okay, friend!!!

They’re at a bar, unwinding after a hunt, and Dean’s lost John somewhere in the crowd. He’s fine with that; he’s had John in his head all day and he’s ready for a break. A break that comes in the form of a bombshell blonde he’s been chatting up at the bar for fifteen minutes. She’s cute, and she seems easy--as easy as Dean--and she keeps finding a reason to touch him. He likes it, that she’s handsy. It keeps him focused on her, keeps his mind on the next thing he’s going to say to convince her to disappear around the back or to her car or her apartment. He doesn’t care, as long as it means he gets to _touch_ someone. He’s been screaming to _touch_ for a week. 

It’s getting bad with John. It’s always been bad, one way or another. Dean’s always had to tiptoe around John’s grief, or his anger, or his drunkenness. Now he’s having to tiptoe around something entirely different. Around the tension he feels when John exits the shower, when John undresses for bed, when John needs stitching up in some spot he can’t reach to do it himself. 

Just that afternoon it’d been a cut along his shoulder blade. Dean had had to press his hand against John’s exposed skin and assess the damage. He’d concluded John didn’t need stitches, just a good cleaning and a couple bandages. He’d done it for him, of course. Had wiped away the blood, spread the antibiotic ointment and placed the bandages. He’d listened to John hiss at the pain, whispered a useless apology, and tried to ignore the way his pants felt tight at his front. Didn’t let himself think about it, just took a cold shower while John drank away the sting. 

He’s doing it again, he realizes. Thinking about John, and not the girl in front of him. _Chelsea,_ he thinks her name is. _Cindy, maybe_. Whatever she’s called, she’s slinking a hand into his jacket, petting over the fabric of his shirt at his waist. 

“You want to get out of here?” he asks against her ear. He needs to get the show on the road. 

“God, yes,” she says. “I came with my roommate, though. Let me check in with her.”

She goes to do just that, but ends up not even taking a step, her eyes caught by something over Dean’s shoulder. 

“Looks like she bagged her entertainment for the evening, too.”

Dean twists his neck to see what Chelsea--he’s pretty sure it’s Chelsea--is looking at, and feels his stomach drop. Chelsea appears to be looking at a pretty freckled girl with dirty blonde hair who’s flirting with Dean’s father only a couple yards or so away. His eyes catch on John, who’s playing the charmer. Dean so rarely sees his father like this, performing in this specific way. He’s got the girl cornered against one of the load-bearing wooden beams, though she doesn’t seem to mind. They’re both in profile for Dean, and he can see the way she’s leaning into him, looking up at John’s face with a flushed smile. John looks at her like he’s found himself a meal, one of his hands on her waist, a mirror of how Chelsea had been with Dean a moment before. From where he’s standing, Dean can just barely see how John’s hips are pressing against hers. His mouth goes dry. 

He swallows, suddenly unsure. “She likes them older,” he says to Chelsea. 

“Daddy issues,” Chelsea says with an eye roll. “But the guy she’s talking to is kind of hot.”

 _No fucking kidding_ , Dean wants to say, but of course he doesn’t. He just watches John flirt, watches him press in closer, until he cocks his head just right and catches sight of Dean. Dean feels himself go clammy, suddenly too hot and cold at the same time, as John holds his gaze. 

“Do you know him?” asks Chelsea. 

Dean swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s a family friend.” He finally looks back at her. “We’ve been traveling together for work. We’ve got a room at the motel next door.”

She raises her brows at him. “Together?”

Dean shrugs. “Cheaper.”

This seems to satisfy her. She shrugs at him. “Well, if everything works out, sounds like we might need to have a little party at your place.”

Dean swallows again. “Let’s hope.”

She pushes past him, heading toward her friend and grabbing Dean’s arm as she goes. He lets himself be dragged to where John and the roommate are. 

“Hey, Dana,” she says, a layer of salaciousness to her voice. “Who’s your friend?”

Dana pulls her eyes away from Dean’s father to look at Chelsea. “Oh, Chelsea--this is John.”

Chelsea pulls Dean against her. “Nice to meet you, John. I’m Chelsea, and I believe you already know my new friend, Dean.”

John gives Dean an unreadable look before smiling flirtatiously at Chelsea and saying, “I do indeed. But it’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Dean wants to laugh. John fucking Winchester saying “lovely”? It’s absurd. Sam would never believe it. Then again, Sam would never believe he and John were out looking for tail together, either. A lot of shit changed after Sammy left. 

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Dana says politely, but she barely looks at him, eyes drawn back to the older Winchester. 

“We were thinking of getting out of here,” says Chelsea. “Dean tells me you have a room next door.”

Dean can see the moment Chelsea’s implication lands for both of them. Dana flushes scarlet. John’s eyes darken. Dean waits for him to say no, to tell Chelsea she can have the motel room with Dean and he can go to the apartment with Dana. _Something_ to get them out of everyone trooping back to the motel together. But John is apparently less uncomfortable with the idea than Dean. 

He nods at the girls, “We do. Want to see it?”

Both Dana and Chelsea laugh. 

Dean’s glad both the girls are focused on John, because if they looked back at Dean they’d see his uncertainty. His eyes must be wide as saucers for John’s support of the idea. 

Chelsea shares a look with Dana that has Dean realizing she’s a lot more into this than he’d thought. “What are we waiting for?” she asks the group. 

“Not a damn thing,” Dean answers with a faint laugh. “Let’s go.”

He shoots a last look at John, who nods at Dean, sharp and small. It’s happening.

The walk to the motel is short, which has Dean grateful _and_ terrified. On the one hand, he would have liked a little more time to compose himself. On the other, he’s desperate to just _start_. Chelsea seems to have the same idea. She’s plastered herself next to Dean, so they’re both walking awkwardly across the strip of dirt that divides the bar’s parking lot from the motel’s. She runs her hand up and down his chest, stumbling over her own feet in her hurry to touch Dean. 

“Almost there,” Dean says to her quietly. His eyes are ahead, on John and Dana in front of them. John’s holding her hand, guiding her between the cars. She laughs at something he says that Dean’s too far away to hear, and he tries not to scowl. 

When they get to the room, Dean can hardly think about anything except exactly what’s in front of him. He watches John unlock the door, eyes laser-focused on the muscles in his father’s back, and barely registers the way Chelsea’s sucking sloppy kisses into the skin of his neck. Dean startles when John withdraws the key, and the door slides open with an audible _creak_. 

“Someone oughta get that oiled,” he says, unthinking.

“That’s not the only thing,” Chelsea purrs against his ear, and Dean wants to grimace at the line. But she’s pushing him inside, following John and Dana through the door, before Dean has a chance to do anything other than let himself be moved. 

She kicks the door shut behind her, and then she’s on him. Dean doesn’t even have time to shoot a final glance at John—to gain a final confirmation this is real, and it’s happening—Chelsea pulls him so quickly against herself. He lets himself be manhandled, not wanting a choice in the matter. He lets the blonde take the reins, guide him where she wants him, put his hands where she thinks they’ll be best used. 

Her body against his is grounding. Dean grips at her hips and leans down to kiss her, tongue ready to part her lips. She opens easily to him, and the slide of her tongue against his--gentle, inviting--is enough to distract him momentarily from what’s happening across the room. Chelsea’s good at this, her hands efficiently working at Dean’s pants while her tongue doesn’t miss a beat against Dean’s. She’s got her finger snaking around his dick through his boxers in record time, and he groans into her mouth, wanton, momentarily forgetting who can hear him. He remembers an instant later, eyes snapping open and face yanking back. Chelsea grins up at him, undeterred, and pushes his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock. 

He looks down at himself, standing proud and full, and then sneaks a look at John and Dana. They’re even further along, with John on the bed and Dana between his thighs, sucking him off. Dean watches her head bob a few times on John’s— _fuck_ —John’s cock, before he can’t help but drag his eyes to John’s face. Dean expects John to be watching Dana; that’s where Dean’s eyes would be in any other scenario. But John isn’t watching Dana. 

He’s watching Dean. 

They make eye contact, and Dean feels a current of electric _want_ thrum down his core. He stutters into Chelsea’s hand, head tipping back. He keeps his eyes on John. On the bed, his father pants, thrusting into Dana’s mouth, hands buried in her hair. 

“Better catch up,” he tosses to Dean. 

Dean expels a breath, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. To his date he says, “ _Bed._ ”

They’re on it a moment later, Dean unlacing his boots while Chelsea works off her top. She’s faster than he is, and by the time he’s slipped out of his shoes, Chelsea’s gotten herself naked, save for her lacy white thong. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Dean tells her. 

She smiles like she knows it and starts tugging at his jeans, pulling them down roughly. Dean helps, but only a little. He’s back to watching Dana give John head. John’s cock is thick, thicker than Dean’s, and bigger by maybe an inch. Dean’s never had a cock in his mouth, but he’s been thinking about it obsessively for most of the last year. Seeing John’s dick, wet and erect, his two fixations merge. He wants to push Dana out from between John’s legs and take her spot. Taste his father’s pre-cum on his tongue and swallow it down. 

Only Chelsea’s mouth on his own cock pulls Dean out of the fantasy. He’s brought immediately back to reality. His eyes snap away from John and back to Chelsea, and smiles up at him through her lashes. 

She pulls off his head with a wet _pop._ “You like to watch?” she asks, cocking her head towards the other bed.

Dean swallows, unsure of the right answer here. 

“It’s okay,” Chelsea assures. She looks over at John and Dana herself. “I do, too.”

Dean smiles, relieved he doesn’t have to try and hide it. “Knew there was a reason I liked you,” he says, grin turning cocky.

She winks before taking him in her mouth once more. 

Now that Dean’s got permission, he doesn’t bother hiding where he’s looking. His gaze shifts back and forth between John’s cock, disappearing over and over into Dana’s mouth, and John’s face. His mouth has fallen open, his eyes have half-closed. He’s mirroring Dean, gaze moving between Chelsea sucking his cock and Dean’s own blissed-out face. Every few seconds their eyes meet, and hold. Dean wonders what John thinks about as he watches his son thrust up into some stranger’s throat. Is he thinking about Dean on his cock instead, like Dean is?

Eventually, John remembers there’s another person attached to his dick, and he turns to look at her, hands tugging in her hair. “Wanna fuck you,” he says to her, and Dean hears the words as if they were meant for him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, ready to come and knowing it’s way too soon. “Ease off.”

Chelsea does, mouth leaving Dean as she moves to sit up. “Ready for the main event?” she asks him. 

“Fuck yes,” Dean says, tugging her in for a kiss. Then he pulls back far enough to yank off his shirt, and leans over the side of the bed to grab his duffel and hunt through it for a condom and some lube. 

“What a boy scout,” Chelsea says as he rolls on the condom. 

“Or a whore,” John says with a snort. 

Chelsea shrugs. “Nothing wrong with that, sweetie.”

Dean smiles at her, pulling her back in for a kiss. “How do you want it?”

She rubs her chest against his. “From behind.”

“Perfect.”

At least, it is until Dean watches Chelsea slip out of her underwear and then get into position on all fours. Not so she’s facing either the head or the foot of the bed, but sideways, so that when Dean lines up behind her, they’re both facing the bed occupied by Dana and John. Chelsea wants them both to have the best view.

It’s another smack of reality. Dean situates himself behind Chelsea and watches with perfect clarity as John positions Dana so she’s lying on her back across the bed too. When he gets himself between her legs and looks up, he’s directly facing Dean. Dean feels like he’s been doused with cold water, and while his hard-on doesn’t go down, he still feels the shock of being eye-to-eye with John as his cock begins to press slowly into Chelsea. John watches Deans’ face as he enters, eyes hungry. 

Dean’s own eyes flutter shut as his balls make contact with the wetness of Chelsea’s cunt. When he opens them again, John is slowly pressing into Dana. John starts thrusting into her slowly, and Dean is so caught up in the way John’s cock glistens with lube and her own wetness that he forgets he has his own job to do. 

“Come on, Dean,” Chelsea whines, and suddenly he’s back in motion. 

With Chelsea on all fours, it’s easy for Dean to keep his eyes on John without feeling guilty. Sometimes John looks down at Dana, but for the most part, he keeps his own gaze on Dean, the pair of them grunting and moaning and fucking as they stare at one another. With every thrust, Dean wonders what it’d feel like to be where Dana is, lying under John, taking his weight. Feeling his father inside of him while he lays there and takes it. He wants to say something to John, to initiate another form of contact between them. But the words keep catching on his tongue. 

Besides, Chelsea’s talking enough for the both of them. She tells Dean to fuck her, to give it to her harder, faster. His hands are a vice at her hips, dragging her on and off his cock, trying to appease her. 

“Spank me!” she orders, and Dean complies immediately, the _crack_ of his hand against her ass a jolt in the sex-soaked room. 

At the first slap, John collapses to his elbows above Dana. “Fuck,” he groans as he thrusts erratically. “Do it again, Dean.”

Dean complies even faster, spanking Chelsea’s other cheek.

She cries out, pressing back as hard as she can into Dean. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Make her come,” John pants from the other bed. “Make her come, Dean.”

Hearing his name on John’s lips, hearing it as he watches John fucking, nearly does Dean in. He falls against Chelsea’s back, their skin sweat-slicked and sticky, and loses all sense of rhythm as he rocks into her. When he cranes his neck to look up at John, he finds the older man thrusting his fingers in and out of Dana’s mouth. She’s looking up at him like he’s a god, and Dean feels a kindred warmth with her. 

He’s also virulently jealous. He wants John’s fingers in his own mouth. 

He’s distracted from his jealousy, though, by Chelsea coming beneath him. He feels her clench around him, hears her high-pitched keen, and then she’s falling down against the bed and taking Dean with her. The shock of the tumble is enough to pull Dean back from his own almost-orgasm, and at the sudden shift in position he feels his cock slip out from her, still hard. He pulls himself up to his knees, taking off the condom and position himself over her body. 

“Where--?” he asks, stroking himself slowly. 

She doesn’t answer, too caught up in her panting. 

“Come here, Dean,” says John, and Dean’s head swings to the other bed. 

“What?” he stammers.

“Finish Dana off for me.”

Dean looks down at her and sees a few streaks of milky white against her torso. He sees the used condom beside her on the bed, and John’s own spent dick softening against his thigh. His father came, and he fucking missed it. 

He looks from John’s cock to his face, and John narrows his eyebrows. 

“I’m not asking again, Dean.”

Dean nods jerkily and then climbs off of his bed and onto John’s. John’s sitting to the side, no longer between Dana’s legs, and he gestures for Dean to take his spot. 

“Eat her out.”

Dean licks his lips. He looks at Dana, who nods up at him, and then repositions himself so he press his mouth against her cunt. 

She’s wet. She’s so fucking wet. Some of it’s lube--from the condom, from the bottle--but most of it is her own slickness. He presses his tongue into her pussy, letting her wetness make a mess of his face. He can hear Dana moan, can hear Chelsea something that sounds like encouragement. But most of all, he can hear John, who murmurs against his ear, _“Good fucking boy.”_

Dean thinks about the fact that John’s cock had been in this very spot just moments before, and almost comes before he can finish the job with Dana. But somehow he knows if he comes before her, John will be disappointed. Luckily, Dean is good at eating girls out, and it doesn’t take long for Dana to grow even wetter, and then begin to convulse. 

“That’s my girl,” Dean can hear Chelsea cheer, and then he’s pulling back. 

“God, she made a mess,” John says quietly. He wipes away at the worst of the wetness surrounding Dean’s mouth, and then wipes his hand on the bedspread. Then he looks down at Dean’s still painfully erect cock. “Your turn. Come on her stomach.”

Dean sits on his knees, cock jutting forward over Dana’s belly. He’d rather be inside, where it’s warm and wet, but seeing John’s seed against her skin is doing something primal to his brain. He starts to stroke himself, eyes focused on the cum striping her belly button. 

“Here,” says John, understanding what Dean is fixated on. He takes his hand and presses it against Dana’s over-stimulated pussy, gathering the slick there. Then he takes the same hand and gathers up some of the cum that reached her chest. 

Finally, with his dry hand, John pulls Dean’s hand off of himself and smears his cock with the mess he collected from Dana. Then he begins to jerk. 

“Jesus,” Dean hears Chelsea mutter from the other bed.

Dean watches John’s eyes as his father gives him the hottest handjob he has ever had, and doesn’t break contact. He thrusts into John’s fist, feeling the glide of Dana’s cum mixed up with John’s, and knows he isn’t going to last long.

“John,” he mumbles, feeling close. “Da--”

He can’t even get the word out before John is kissing him quiet, and Dean’s brain short-circuits as he comes onto Dana’s chest. 

John kisses him through it, milking Dean’s cock for every drop. And when he’s done, he pulls himself back and lets Dean get a good look at the mess he’s made. Dean sits back, dumbstruck, and barely notices when Dana and Chelsea disappear to the bathroom to clean up. He can’t bring himself to look at John. He wonders if he should move back to his own bed, but he doesn’t feel in control of his body just yet. 

It’s only the thud of the motel door closing that shakes him back to himself. He looks around the room, finding it empty except for him and John. 

“They took off?” he asks, needlessly. It’s obvious they did.

“Yeah,” John says quietly. “Just you and me.”

They’re both still naked. Still on John’s bed. 

“That--” Dean starts to say, but he stops himself. He doesn’t know what to say about what just happened.

“We’re not going to talk about it,” says John, and when Dean looks at his father, _really_ looks at him, he can see he’s almost as strung out as Dean.

“I liked it,” Dean says, voice a whisper.

John swallows and looks at him. “Go clean up, Dean.”

He can tell he won’t get anything else out of his father, and does as he’s told.


End file.
